Night Fury: Second Act Part 2

He doesn't answer, but I see his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth.

That doesn't stop me though. "All we do is interfere! We kill people. We take lives. We have a G.o.d complex for Christ's sake. People do bad things and we make sure the people suffering don't suffer any longer than they can handle. Don't f.u.c.king tell me you can't do anything. It's not that you can't; it's that you won't."

Bob turns his face up to look into my eyes. "It's not my place."

The fight in me takes flight. Now I'm the helpless one. My throat thickens with emotion. "You weren't there. You didn't see him. He was scared, Bob." My eyes fill with traitorous tears. "He was panicked and scared. He didn't want to go with him."

He utters gently, "That's his brother, Cat. His guardian."

I'm angry again.

Well, that didn't take long.

"The guy is a junkie and he put his hands on Tomas!"

His eyes narrow. "You saw this. You actually saw it."

I say the words I know he needs to hear to believe me. "I swear on Jesus Christ."

Bob thinks for a minute, and then runs his hands down his face warily. "d.a.m.n. The things I do." He straightens and feigns boredom. "All right. I can't promise anything but I'll look into it."

My legs carry me across the room quicker than I thought possible. Bob stands and I throw myself into his arms, squeezing him tightly. "That's all I ask." I hold him for a solid minute. As I let go and make my leave, I mutter, "G.o.d bless you, Father Robert. You're a good man."

I force myself to say those words. I have to believe it.

I have to.

Chapter Four.

I find myself sitting on Marco's bed for the second time in as many days. I've been avoiding the team, for good reason. I hate lying to them. I was never a great liar, at least not when it came to anything that mattered.

I can't help but wonder what Marco has told the police about us. More often, I wonder when they'll come for us, and why they haven't already.

I'm on edge all the time. My heart endlessly constricted, I feel tension in places I've never been tense before. My shoulders are stiff; a ceaseless headache pains me till I feel stomach sick.

In short, life sucks right now.

Dressed in my modest long skirt and white shirt, I stand from the bed and move over to the dresser mirror to adjust my veil. Just as I make my exit, I careen into Clark. His hands come around me, holding me up. My hands grip the front of his shirt.

"Sorry," I say through a cringe.

Busted.

Face void, he pulls away from me swiftly, as though my touch burns him. He avoids my gaze, tension apparent. I immediately become worried about my friend.

Something is wrong.

Reaching up, I place my hand on forearm. "Clark? Are you okay?"

Jaw firm, he answers tightly, "Fine."

I fight not to roll my eyes. "You don't seem fine." I ask quietly, "Is it Mich.e.l.le?"

Tension comes off him in waves. "Leave it."

Undeterred, I step closer. "You know, we can talk about this. That's what friends do."

He barks a sharp, humourless laugh, and then looks down at me through cold blue eyes. "Really? We're friends? We can talk?"

My brows bunch in confusion. "Of course we're friends."

He scratches at his chin in a c.o.c.ky move that is so out of character for Clark, my haunches rise.

Something is very wrong here.

He steps closer to me, jaw set. "We were friends for a long time, weren't we? We cared about each other. You were everything to me, you know that?" His chest heaves and his hands form into tight fists. "But then something happened, see?" He leans down, eyes searching my face. He runs a finger gently down the side of my cheek. "Friends don't f.u.c.k a guy they barely know minutes after a good friend confesses their love for them."

My gut coils. A burning flush rises up from my neck, heating my cheeks. I whisper, "What?"

Clark smiles a cruel smile I have never seen him wear. Ever. And it terrifies me. "Oh, yeah. I know, Cat."

Shame turns my body cold. I mouth, "How?"

Finger on my cheek, he leans closer into me and runs his nose up the side of my face.

I feel like caged animal. Trapped. Backed into a corner. Uncomfortable.

His breath warms my face. His lips touch the sh.e.l.l of my ear and what he says next makes me die a little inside.

His breathing heavies as he softly mews, "Marco. Yes. f.u.c.k, yes. Oh, Marco. f.u.c.k me harder."

He imitates me so perfectly, including the soft hitches in breath, that I know he's telling the truth.

He heard me.

My stomach recoils violently.

Oh, G.o.d. What have I done?

My eyes fill with tears. I choke out, "You weren't meant to hear that."

Pulling away an inch, he looks into my eyes. "I know." He pauses. "But I did."

A tear trails my cheek. My lips quiver. I'm so ashamed of myself. I feel dirty. Without knowing it, I've hurt one of my best friends. I feel like an a.s.shole. Like sc.u.m. I shrug softly. I open my mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. Instead, I whisper, "I'm so sorry, Clark. You weren't ever meant to know."

He nods, his face sympathetic. He then leans closer and sighs, "I know. I know I wasn't." He leans a little closer and says, "You know what would've helped?" I look up at him as my tears fall freely. His face contorts, his lips curl, and my body jolts as he punches the wall by the side of my head. Leaning closer, a hair's breadth away from me, he roars in my face, "Not f.u.c.king the guy I work with in the room next door to mine!"

I'm so stunned by this uncharacteristic outburst, I forget that I can take him down in a second flat. That I could kill him in two. I watch him unblinkingly through wide eyes and wonder if this is entirely my fault.

He leans back a little, face red, trying to steady his breathing. His hand comes up to my face and he brushes back a stray lock of my hair. "I suppose it doesn't matter." His cold eyes meet mine. "The entire time you were with him, I was with her. And every time you called his name, I f.u.c.ked her harder."

Ouch.

"You should've heard her moaning my name." He smirks viciously. "Oh, but you wouldn't have, would you? G.o.d knows you were singing loud enough for the man upstairs to hear you himself." His face turns serious. "Tell me, Cat? Do you think G.o.d knows just how much of a f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e you are?

My hand darts out before I can stop myself. I slap him so hard his face jerks to the side.

Face twisted, his hand surges to my neck, gripping tightly.

This is a blatant insult. In my teenage years, I told Clark about my being uncomfortable with people touching my neck. He's doing this on purpose. He's trying to force a reaction.

He pushes me back into the wall hard enough to show me how angry he is, but not enough to actually hurt me. The threat has me reeling though. Through gritted teeth, he hisses, "I f.u.c.ked her but I was thinking of you." My eyes close. My body shakes in silent sobs. He adds, "If I'd known how much you'd wanted it, how freely you were giving it away, I'd have never asked. I'd have just taken it from you."

A stabbing pain violently rips into my chest, right through my heart, over and over again. I'm too hurt to react. I can only feel.

He pushes lightly at my neck for a moment before letting go, turning and walking away. He stops at the end of the hall, turns and calls out, "You know, it's such a nice day today. It seems like the perfect day to soak up some sun or even," he shrugs carelessly, "do some gardening."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand.

Clark walks away whistling as if what just occurred, had never actually happened at all.

My feet carry me away. I wipe away stray tears. As I reach the door leading outside, I hesitate. Taking a breath, I open the door, walk out and make my way towards the church. I pause mid-step.

No.

My garden.

No.

It's ruined. Every last thing has been pulled up. Vegetables and herbs lay strewn around the dirt patch that was once a bountiful wonder.

Before I have a second to register what has happened, I hear m.u.f.fled arguing coming from the kitchen. The back door bursts open and Bob strides out looking murderous. Frankie follows closely behind. "Bob, stop! You don't even know what it was about!"

He comes toward me at a pace so quick, I back up.

When he reaches me, his chest heaves. He places his fingertips at my collarbone and asks gently, "Are you okay?"

My brows narrow in confusion. "Um. Yes. Why?" The answer hits me as quick as the question was asked, and my stomach dips.

Surveillance.

Bob and Frankie must've seen the whole scene with Clark.

Bob's face turns hard, his body turns rigid and his jaw steels. "Good. Excuse me."

He walks out to the barn. I turn to Frankie and watch as her face pales.

Oh, f.u.c.k.

Snapping out of my lapse in consciousness, I quickly start after him. "Bob, wait!"

Frankie follows me, calling out to Bob, "Don't do anything you'll regret!"

The door by the barn closes, and as I reach it, I struggle to key in my code. "C'mon!" Finally, the door clicks and whirs and we're in. I growl as I approach the second security door. As soon as it opens, I hear commotion.

"Bob, what the f.u.c.k?" This comes from Clark.

Squealing and screeching of tables and chairs being knocked around sounds loudly. Frankie and I reach the rails of the top floor and look down in time to catch the first blow, both watching wide-eyed.

Bob sneers, rears his arm back and throws his fist into Clark's stomach. "You f.u.c.ked up, boy." He travels two steps to where Clark wheezes, his face a mask of shock. Bob lifts his leg and brings down his heel onto Clark's knee. Clark howls out in agony.

Bob kicks him in the stomach. "You like putting your hands on women, Clark? How does it feel? Tell me how it feels."

Clark wheezes, and then heaves. "I'm sorry."

Bob shakes his head. "No, you're not. But you will be."

He reaches down and lifts Clark by his shirt. Once he's standing, Bob head-b.u.t.ts him right in the nose. Clark goes down. Again.

He stays down.

Clark's nose pours with blood and I know it's broken. Bob looks down at him, face filled with contempt. "You ever put your hands on Cat again and I will kill you. I haven't made a kill in ten years, Clark, but for you, I'll make a f.u.c.king exception." Clark attempts to sit up. Bob glares down at him. "You get me?"

Clark doesn't respond. He simply nods.

Bob turns to leave. As he walks up the stairs, he calls out, "You owe Cat an apology."

He leaves us to deal with the mess. I'm not sure what's in a worse state, the office or Clark.

Chapter Five.

I'm not sure what happened this morning with Clark. I only know that I would like it to never happen again.